"Some stories begin for a different end,
Some are told for achieving their narrow bend;
Some leave us awakened in our dreams,
Some make us stay awake for another pseudo play;
Some rise from the ashes to survive,
Some dragons just wield fire to destroy;
Some talk sense to unite,
Some divide you to conquer;
Some stay with you forever,
Some disappear before you ever arrive."
"Let's make a rainbow, rather than blue, red, or for that matter saffron."
-Inspired from "The Danger of a Single Story" by Chimamanda.
He was scrolling through his feed while one post caught his attention. He realised he wasn't the only one to pick the others presence than the tickling sea water and the corner park bench. He just wished they would connect, again.
"Tormented by the past, and sketched about the future,
The story might sound scary to begin, but every tryst begins unfamiliar."
"Follow, not worship, great leaders."
"Don't make that sound, people are looking at us." I chirped.
"That's how I drink my coffee. The sound has a flavour of its own." She hit back.
"Like this one?" I held out a loud sip, now even the manager at the counter was looking at us with blank eyes.
"Stop it Ryan. You will get us evicted!"
"Who started it? Flavour and all? I want to find my flavour too."
"Oh please, can we get over this?"
"Not until I am done with my coffee!" I sipped another loud one. Her expressions changed all of a sudden, she became quiet and pretended that I don't exist.
"Attitude" I broke the silence with an awkward laugh. But she didn't reply a word, so I got back to my coffee, and this time it was only s...
She picked up salt instead of sugar and added two tablespoons of it. I sat down to have my cup of tea, and I wasn't amused. I rallied myself to the bathroom only to return red faced with a simple question in my mind.
"What did I do now?"
She chose not to answer. I tried hard to think what I had forgotten, what special could this day be. I very well knew Tara's way of expressing her displeasure, it had almost become a routine, at least once every month. But today's tea was the most salty that I have been yet served, that made me only more perplexed to find the reason.
"Tell me, what did I do wrong?" I sat down, dumbfounded, looking at her.
She slowly passed a note and made her way towa...
They say if a writer falls in love with you, then you are immortalised in his words forever. These immortal chains of your memory held together for the writer to reminiscence about love that he once thought would succeed, is sometimes too suffocating to relive them again and again. So today, I set you free. I am letting you go from the bonds of emotions that I depend on to write, I am letting myself in to see if love gives me another chance to find.
So adieu my long lost thought, my very first love. Thanks for everything.
"I scathe down the memories,
The rolled tears, the silent burst outs,
And the smile I carried despite the pain,
Despite the bruises to my gentle heart,
To the time I had rolled up my sleeves
To shout it all out but to only stay away,
Away for no reason, to keep others unscathed
For the mistakes I played no part to be punished for,
I took them all in, I let the bruises grow deeper & thicker
To a point that I think I can't take it anymore;
I know I had enough to be silent about,
I know I have enough to speak out now,
It's time that I reach out to get what I deserved
To speak what I feel, to do what I think is right to,
It's time for me to realise that I love myself
Way more than I co...
'Yet not yet'
"Content and satisfied
Yet incomplete and lost;
Love life philosophy
Yet money making practicality;
Impressed at the first sight
Yet the prejudices stay relate;
Truth remains a fact
Yet post-truth the reality."
"Like the speckles of gold dust flying around,
The enlightened souls shine the path for others to flow."
"Flying high away in freedom,
The birds find their way in the blue,
A clarion call amid the silence,
And the flock gets ready to glue.
The breeze from within the gather
Catches the eye of an aged soul,
Famished and battered by slavery
His old eyes glitter at sight of one whole.
The idea spells fire in the hearts
And the minds of the ravaged, the conquered,
It strikes deep within a place called hope
As the heads long fallen rise towards the sky.
The wind kisses their zeal, enriches their spirit,
As they gather together under the old man
To march their union, to show their solidarity
To make themselves the master of their own fate.
They stand their peace, they hold ...
"Dead Poet's Society", it's been one of the most influential movies I have seen, the very one which influenced me to rhyme. It was back in the winter of 2014 when I had chanced upon to watch this epic movie unfold, leaving me pondering at the sight of being able to write a poem of my own, or say at least a couplet to recite. I had written stories in the past but poetry always felt surreal to achieve. So that day when I sat down before my word document, with all those apprehensions of never being able to finish my poem, a miracle finally happened. It began with my most dear yet painful emotion "Heartbreak", and the words that followed didn't just tragically break open but flowed calmly with th...
"Where do we hide our angst, our rage?" Twenty year old boy asked his dad.
"In literature." Came the reply.
"If they come for literature, then?"
"Then find your silence to answer."
"Doesn't that make me a coward, Dad"
"It makes you strong my son, it makes you strong."
"How?" His curious eyes were answered by a gentle pat on his shoulder as his dad walked past with a smile.
"Be patient son, everything has its own time to be understood."
The boy nodded in respect but remained perplexed from within. It was going to be a restless night for him that day. He had seen his first share of discrimination at college, and it would take him a long time to digest that. He had been mocked before for h...
"In the chaotic world like ours,
I find solace in your thought."
A story is nothing but a journey. A journey to reach different destinations through varied emotions, realised through words.
"Clouded by the walled exterior,
Trembled along the chores of a false self;
I await the one who would see the truth,
To be the light who would guide me through."
Wait for that person who will believe in your crazy little world, driving life into those dreams by reliving them together. However mad and impossible your dreams might sound to be, it will never sound that way to her. Because she will believe in you, she will see what no one could ever possibly see, the real you. When she will be around, there would be no filters, there would be no veils, there would only be naked truth, the naked you. So when she is there with you will know, how lucky one can be. There is no doubt that she would be rare to find but trust me it will be worth the wait. Just imagine a morning you wake up dialling her number and suddenly narrating her your dream, even breaking ...
"It ain't hard to be reached,
It ain't close to be heard,
It only needs to be felt,
It only needs to be expressed."
Could that be love?
"There is always a walk that I wonder about,
The one I so wanted to take her along;
I was too lost in her thoughts, I was too happy
Within the possibilities of chirping in a word
Or two to convince her that I was no creep,
That I was someone who genuinely cared
And had an equal share of respect tagged along;
These possibilities were too beautiful to stay away
but the reality a bit too weird to come about
Making me stuff those words deep within, and the moment when she glanced across
I had my head tilted away with embarrassment
As my mind roared with many voices at once, leaving a few that caught be my surprise;
"Did she judge me as another stalker?" I felt terribly small
At the sight ...
"How is she here?" I slowly whispered.
"Who?" My friend replied with no actual interest of knowing "who".
"That girl in the white tee, you see her Kabir?...Kabir?" By the time I finished pointing towards her, my friend had already been lost in his fifth vodka shot.
"Okay, why is she walking towards me? Why?"
"May be she is coming here to get her drink, you dumbass"
Logical talk from my drunk friend while sweaty palms for myself wasn't fitting right for me in this scenario. So before I could come back to my senses, I found a gentle tap on my shoulder.
"Hey Ryan, remember?" The lady in the white with her deep blue eyes spoke with her beautiful voice which blurred the heavy rock into s...
"Cluttered within, messed about
The things forgotten and the people mistaken;
Sitting inside a weeping veil,
Traumatised by the judgements decreed
And the prejudice that had since formed,
She sings her tale to her broken heart
About the life of a solitary mother
Left alone by a remorseless man
To carry her suffering in this gigantic sphere
With a child from an untied knot
That the world fails to accept."
I usually heed to those who question why we celebrate a particular day for love; isn't every day, one for love? I silence myself with a makeshift happy nod while trying hard to keep that itsy bitsy part of me that still believes in this day from exploding all over the other. But today when I look back at all those questions, and my stand of supporting the naysayers, my silence sounds completely illogical to me. Hard truth that we happen to realise a little late is that not every day we actually give for love, I mean it in literal sense; just try to question how often do we go out of our way and compliment someone or how often do we utter the words, "I love you" to that special one, even thoug...
"...and the destruction begins."
He leaves the place, teary eyed, with a feeling of distraught and anger. He rushes towards his car, to finally break down as he gets seated inside. Tears swell up as the pain and anguish of being robbed of something which he considered his own was plucking the strings of his usually cold heart. It was deep as hell; the scars were getting imprinted with precision, the ones he wouldn't forget in the times to come. He tried to compose himself but the grief was way too heavy for himself to handle alone. In desperate measure, he dialled the one number he could bet his life upon, unlike the ones who double crossed him moments before.
"Hello" His voice had been sh...
"Everyone has their share of battles going on; some are visible to others while many remain hidden forever. So try not to dig the forgotten ones, but instead try creating a pleasant one for the other. Because we never know that a small gesture of understanding could very well become the beacon of hope for the other."
"I keep humming a tune
To reignite my spirits
To remember the times we spent,
To only find myself fumble with the lyrics
Of the very song that we sang times together."
Being hypercritical: A state of being where one becomes excessively and unreasonably critical about almost everything.
Hyper criticality can never lead to progress. It's about converting those views into reasonable action and threading a credible change.
As Gandhi had said, "Let's be the change we want to see in the world."
I often find myself staring at the blank word document absent-mindedly, lost within my train of thoughts and the little world I so price upon. The music breezes around these phrases, the incomplete things which I had never chanced upon to say and probably would never convey. In between those “I wish that happened” and “I regret doing that” thoughts, I find my piece that fits for me to write. The piece which stirs my universe, pushes the boundaries, and allows me to live a character of the stories that I try to sketch. That moment of time, when everything comes flying together, I see my piece wide and clear. Rushing with this sense of enigma, I journey along with my ambivalent thoughts to fina...